Sherlock Holmes in the Twenty-First Century
by Fantasydoc
Summary: Twenty-first century London: Crime-ridden, thug paradise. Sherlock Holmes will have his work cut out for him when he awakes in modern times with John and Mary Watson due to an experiment gone wrong.
1. Prolouge

**The author apologizes in advance for the presence of any American spelling in a fan-fiction dedicated to one of the most recognizable Fictional British Personas of all time.**

***Note: This story is slightly different from the original Sherlock Holmes series in that a character that has been killed off in the original serialisation was retained, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is portrayed as being a separate persona from Watson. Some of the dates have been altered slightly as well.***

**Prologue: A Prelude to a Nap**

_"How's it coming along, old chap?" Holmes, up and about, iron constitution beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, stood by my bed, white-knuckled grip tightened around the railing. He clutched a tablet computer in his other hand as though it would provide all the answers in the world to everything earthly. That statement was not altogether incorrect._

_"Fine, I suppose."_

_My hands betrayed me as I fumbled about for my pipe, dropping it on the floor. Holmes was about to bend down to pick it up, but I stayed him from doing so with an anxious hand on his arm._

_ A passing nurse, shockingly attired as was the norm in these modern times, picked it up for me and washed it fastidiously. One would think that there would be more cloth to go around in a society where all menial tasks were automated, rather than less of it, as was the impression that her clothes gave me._

_I sighed as I bit down on my pipe, forbidden by this sterile society's iron restriction on smoking in Hospital wards. The familiar taste brought back memories of the circumstances that had landed me in this unfamiliar time. _

"What can modern science not achieve?"

Sherlock and I were seated in his dining room, having just finished a magnificently roasted duck. I must confess that the wine had loosened my tongue somewhat, so the reader should excuse any irrationality that has corrupted my speech, for my honesty in setting this down was at least unadulterated.

"Pray tell, Watson. There are some things that should _not_ be achieved." My incorrigible companion said, reaching for his snuff-box that had I any power over it, would have been thrown out of the window, along with most of his test tubes, which contained regrettably volatile reagents.

"Doctor Samson, renown within the medical profession, a polymath who is an expert on the winter habits of bears, squirrels, and all hibernating animals in addition to being one of the best chemists in the country, has invented a method of trapping a fully-grown bear in a state of hibernation so deep that it makes its natural pseudo-death seem like a fitful nap. His scientific achievement, though to the layman merely a curiosity, is intriguing enough to the academician that he may henceforth, after a ceremony at Buckingham Palace, be addressed as _Sir_ Doctor Samson." I read aloud as Holmes leaned forward, undisguised intellectual hunger shining from beneath his eyelids at the news.

"Really, the things that Man can do with idle time and an excess of money!" I laughed, lowering the paper. "Our European civilization has advanced its arts and amassed a staggering overabundance of resources, notwithstanding our recent conflicts, so much so that what is unnecessary for practical men necessarily becomes a subject of inquiry."

"Beware, Watson." Holmes remarked with less than his usual amount of good cheer, even for him. "What is unnecessary to-day shall become to-morrow's lifeline, and today's monarch might be stretched out upon his deathbed on the morrow."

He reached across for the paper as though to snatch it from my grasp, and I must confess that I handed it over somewhat grudgingly.

"I say, Holmes," I began, slightly put out, "What the Devil is bothering you? Is that man some base criminal putting on the cloak of respectability as so many of your jailbirds have been wont to do?"

"Nothing. Only that this man might have the keys to the future, and they have been tossed in the dust! And speaking of dust, here, have some." He extended his snuff box to me before I could say anything more, dark mood suddenly lifted. I laughed, refusing him politely by informing him that I was content with my pipe. He could be truly disarming when tact was called for.

Two pinches of tobacco later, I dressed for the walk outside, where I hailed a hansom cab and directed him to proceed with all speed to my matrimonial home, where my wife, Mary, was awaiting my return in our bed.

Our efforts have yet to result in a child, but she believes with great feminine faith that one should not count one's chicks before the eggs are laid, let alone hatched – or fertilized. The sight of my home with the bedchamber being the only room lit as though by flames of passion, even from within the cab, caused circulations of blood in certain regions that drove from my mind all thought of Holmes and his esoteric sayings.

Looking back, I realized that I should not have taken his brief moment of severe sobriety so lightly. I would soon find out that he had been speaking prophetically – perhaps even more so than he was accustomed to doing.

After a pleasant night's sleep, Mary and I received a startling piece of news over a dainty breakfast of croissants and jam accompanied by some half-boiled eggs. Doctor Samson was inviting me, and whoever I would care to bring along, to inspect the fruits of his labours. The letter that he sent cited my credentials as a respectable man in the medical community and a soldier that had seen actions fighting on the front lines for our Empire. Surely I, a seasoned war veteran, could see the practical value in his new discovery.

Though I scoffed at the thought, I wore a smile on my face as I asked my wife if half a Sunday spent inspecting a scientific discovery would agree with her tastes. Some men are absolute masters of their wives; I, having almost been separated from her by quite a fair sum of money in her favour which was mistakenly thought to exist in the form of a treasure of six pearls, am far less inclined to exercise dominance for its own sake, if at all.

"But of course, darling," she cooed, dabbing at her lips with an immaculately white napkin. "I would love to see what could capture my husband's fancy so, when it should have been solely in _my_ possession."

"All right," I huffed, blushing as only a man could at his wife titillating him in the presence of their servant-boy. "Hum! The letter calls upon us to be present at the docks of London at one o'clock. No hurry at all."

The rest of the morning was spent taking in the fresh Sabbath air outside our domicile. After dressing for the occasion, I scribbled a note to our houseboy, instructing him to have some light refreshments ready for us when we returned.

Mary and I departed, and I glanced at the headlines once more as we left our home, marvelling at how the year 1893 had found England alive and well as we neared the next century.

"Halloa!" I was not surprised at all to see Holmes standing beside Doctor Samson at the Docks. I should have expected no less given the reverence that Holmes had displayed towards the good doctor's discovery the last night. Around them was a pretty crowd filled with not a few important faces, some of them gathered from abroad.

"Good day, Watson! And good day to you too, Miss Watson! I trust that you had a good night's rest with your husband, though it was probably not without quite a fair amount of activity beforehand."

"Nothing can hide from your keen gaze, Holmes." I laughed resignedly while Mary blushed and feigned mild offense.

"Well, here we are!" Doctor Samson huffed. "I would like to first of all thank Mister Holmes for rendering a great service unto me, namely that of recovering a vital piece of machinery which was instrumental in my experiments. Though he claims that it was but a trifling matter, accepting but half of the sum that I had offered him for his efforts, I deem it of sufficient import that I am compelled to pay for the other half in any other way that I can, even if it is by offering half a Sunday's diversion."

I recalled the case of a certain Doctor Samson that I had neglected to publish, deeming it insignificant and unremarkable since it had been solved in the space of several hours by Holmes and involved a disgruntled employee of a courier company. I shall not mention it in detail here.

"Now, as you can see, the squirrel in this metal cage is alive and well-fed."

Doctor Samson held up a wire cage, within which crouched a grey squirrel that looked around fitfully, as though already comprehending the ordeal that lay ahead.

"I shall now place it in this chamber, which I have used before on bears to induce hibernation. A special gas that I have synthesised shall be injected into this chamber, which the squirrel shall be allowed to inhale for about five minutes. It shall be asleep after the first minute, but for safety's sake, it should be allowed that period of time for the chemicals in the gas to diffuse throughout its body."

Doctor Samson clasped his hands, noting that the sea breeze had brought a blush to some of those present.

"Surely you all must be wondering about the reason for my odd choice of venue. Allow me to explain: This chamber is cooled by a refrigeration unit that requires seawater for its operation. Of course, refrigerators do not generally use seawater for heat dissipation, but I have built a refrigerator that uses seawater in such a manner to meet the demand for an abrupt drop of temperature as ordinary refrigerators cannot provide. Imagine if you will, a drop in temperature from what you are experiencing right now to twenty degrees below zero in a quarter of a second! Perhaps a more efficient means of cooling may be invented later, but for now, I have seized upon seawater as the best means of dissipating the tremendous amount of heat removed from the chamber."

Doctor Samson inserted the cage and its unfortunate occupant into a large metal chamber that was sizable enough to fit three men. He shut its door, sealing it shut by means of a single clamp.

"Please do not worry about the gas that I shall now introduce into the chamber. It is quite airtight, I assure you." Doctor Samson said upon noticing some worried faces in the crowd.

A slight hissing was heard, and then for the next five minutes, he answered questions from the crowd. I recall only the last question from a young boy who held his respectable father's hand in his right and suckled on his own left thumb while doing so.

"Can we use it on the deer at London Zoo?"

The crowd tittered a little, and I myself smiled in gentle amusement at the boy's ignorance. Deer do not hibernate.

"Of course." Doctor Samson said, surprising all of us greatly. A murmur ran through the crowd as the Doctor ventured into uncharted waters that might lead to glory or ruin for his reputation, depending on the words that he chose next.

"I have conducted experiments with deer as well as other non-hibernating animals, such as dogs, cats, mice, monkeys and chimpanzees. All of them were successfully brought into a deeper state of hibernation than even a bear in the dead of winter, and were successfully revived when subjected to warmer temperatures and the invigorating effects of oxygen."

The crowd was uncertain now. The general consensus on remaining undecided was his cue.

"Bring out the dog!" He called, glancing at his watch. Five minutes had already passed. "Vent the gas into the ocean!"

The seawater some distance away from the tubes running from the machine into the water suddenly appeared to boil, churned by the passage of a noxious-looking green gas.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you –"

Doctor Samson opened the door to the chamber to extract the squirrel within. "A sleep that would have baffled Morpheus. Here it is!"

The doctor held the cage up with a flourish. He immediately placed it upon a tray, clapping a glass lid over it.

"-Ee's dead!" The little boy who had asked his question earlier cried out, as the Doctor's assistant led a large greyhound into the chamber.

"No, no, lad! Merely asleep! However closely you look, you won't see him breathing, but just you take off the lid and wait for a while – He'll awaken when he gets enough fresh air!"

The doctor clamped the lid shut, and by the means of some apparatus that formed a connection with the hollow handle of the glass lid, pumped a colourless gas into it.

"Carbon dioxide, ladies and gentlemen," He said, "No need to fear! None of the green gas that you saw earlier is now necessary. I repeat: It's oxygen that he needs to awake now. As long as he is not exposed to it, he will continue in this pseudo-death, not breathing, unfeeling, neither dead nor alive – until sufficient oxygen enters his nostrils and diffuses to his lungs."

The machine hissed and hummed, now administering the gas to the martyr within. The glass container was passed around, its contents scrutinized intently by all. When the squirrel was passed to me and my wife, Holmes, who had waked over to join us, scrutinized it with far more zeal than did I, and perhaps with far less of the revulsion that doctors should not ever display.

"Fascinating, Watson." He breathed "The squirrel has truly stopped breathing. See how its ribcage remains stationary! Ah, but what a fine specimen it is! One of the largest that I have seen."

"I am no veterinarian, but I must say that it looks, to all intents and purposes, dead." I remarked. My wife also peered through the glass, slightly distressed that the squirrel should be subject to so disagreeable a treatment.

"It _will _wake up when you open the jar, won't it?" She half-demanded of the Doctor.

"Absolutely. Go on, give it a shake! It won't respond even if I were to fire off a pistol next to it. Well? Anyone else? No? Then permit me – "

The doctor removed the covering of the jar, standing back a little and waving his hand over it to dispel the carbon dioxide.

"And now we wait for about five minutes for the squirrel to begin breathing. It shall be awake and aware of its surroundings after another five, leaving us all with enough time for some afternoon tea." He joshed.

"For us, it would indeed be ten minutes, but for him, I daresay that it would be an eternity in a purgatory painful enough to rival that of Dante's," Holmes whispered wickedly in my wife's and my own ears.

"Perhaps." I whispered in reply. "He looks rather confident, though."

"Pooh! Watson, surely a medical man such as yourself are a better judge of men! See how he fiddles with the ring on his right finger!"

"Perhaps it is merely a habit of his," My wife remarked, "His hands look steady enough to me. His motions are unhurried and smooth."

"Whether he is moving spasmodically or not has nothing to do with it; the mere performance of the act is enough to give him away. I have been observing him long before you came. He has not toyed with the ring on his finger though he had nothing else to do with his hands. Since he only finds the occasion to do so now, I may infer that it is a nervous habit of his. Look how he leans! Earlier on, he was standing with his weight balanced on the balls of both his feet; now he favours his left, though he does not shift his weight from one foot to the other as most men would do. This is practiced composure at its best. The man is probably stewing in his own juices on the inside."

"Oh, Holmes! You see everything!" My wife tittered playfully, covering her mouth with her fan.

"We see everything too, dear, but do not make sense of it as he does." I paraphrased one of Holmes' reprimands that had once been directed at me with far greater frequency when we were fellow lodgers, offering my old friend a mischievous grin. He chuckled at my verbal plagiarism.

The Doctor had been unnecessarily modest. The squirrel was already twitching after five minutes; by the eighth, it was already wide awake, though it appeared more torpid than usual, as though it had awoken after three months' worth of hibernation rather than ten minutes' or so of the same.

"Now bring out the dog!" He called out, mopping at the moisture that had gathered on his brow though the December chill threatened to freeze any uncovered flesh.

The canine test subject, which had gone unnoticed as the squirrel was being passed around, was brought out to hushed murmurs of anticipation from the crowd.

"And now, I shall call upon Doctor Battenford from the Royal Medical Society to examine this dog. Doctor, over to you."

Doctor Samson stepped away as Doctor Battenford pressed a stethoscope to the dog's chest.

"It appears to be dead – no pulse." He muttered. A hush fell upon the crowd, and then came the inevitable eruption of mirthful scorn. Doctor Battenford was about to remove his stethoscope, but Doctor Samson stayed his hand.

"Didn't I say that the animals would enter a sleep that was deeper than hibernation earlier? Patience, patience! The dog shall be revived soon enough. Dear Sir, I trust that you shall humour me, if only for a few more minutes. Larger animals do require more time to be revived."

The next five minutes passed all too slowly by for the animated doctor. Every minute or so, he would shoot his colleague a quick glance, and a shake of the other man's head would be his only response.

Eight minutes. Nine minutes. The nervous doctor was squeezing the ring upon his finger as though he might, by sheer force, reshape the metal.

Ten minutes. The crowd was beginning to titter dangerously. "Wait! Silence! Silence, I say!" Doctor Battenford leaned excitedly over the dog, excitement carved into the deep lines of his face. The crowd fell silent as his request came with the force of an order.

"Incredible. Marvellous!" He breathed "The dog's heart has just resumed beating!" The crowd was petrified for a moment as they contemplated what he had just said, and then a roar of acclaim washed over all present. Doctor Samson, surely now Sir Doctor Samson, took a bow, cheeks flushed more from excitement and relief than from the cold December air.

"Thank you, thank you! Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, I shall now answer any and all of your questions!"

Doctor Battenford was just removing his stethoscope from the dog's rib as though he still could not quite believe that the dog had just returned from the dead. Eyes full of childlike wonder, he bent over the dog's head to examine it when the canine patient woke up and bit him in the neck.

The crowd's surprised cry was not half as loud as Doctor Samson's wail of despair. Sherlock and I glanced at each other and lunged forward to help.

"Help! For God's sake – Help!" the poor man cried out. Sherlock and I grabbed at the dog, working to pry it away from the Doctor's throat. It growled at us like the Devil incarnate, and that was when a well – meaning but clumsy member of the audience rushed forward to help, but ended up butting Holmes and I into the chamber behind us.

"John!" Mary shrieked, rushing forward to help pull me out of the chamber. I would have gotten out without trouble, save that the world was tilting dangerously now and that Holmes was obstructing me, his body curiously limp. My eyes widened in horror as I saw that he had fallen with his face pressed into one of the vents, which was now leaking the vile green gas that had subdued the squirrel and dog.

Her body fell upon mine, and the overthrow of our balance completed itself as our world was plunged into darkness by the chamber's door swinging shut under its own weight.

I struggled a little, and fell into nothingness.


	2. Chapter 1: An Arrival in Another Time

**Chapter 1: An Arrival in Another Time**

My chest was crushed in at its centre, and I screamed in pain as a burly maniac wearing a rude shirt assailed me, doubled fists applying his full weight upon me– the first sight of my returning vision. I lashed out, managing to throw the brute off me, sprang to my feet, and fell to my knees.

The world wavered all around, my senses in shock as the darkness that had held them captive receded.

"Hey – Take it easy! Take it easy!" The words, spoken quickly, didn't sound like a threat to me. Though my assailant could have beaten me senseless again, he instead extended a hand to me, as though to help me rise.

I took it hesitantly, and he actually slung my arm over his shoulder. Evidently he had attempted to resuscitate me, though his methods were a little crude. I resolved to make this incident known to the Royal College of Physicians the first thing tomorrow, whether he was a practicing doctor or not.

Glancing around me, I froze in horror as I saw another man performing the same act on my wife. I tugged at my helper, extending a hand towards her, as though I might save her and Holmes, stretched out beside her, from these well-meaning but ignorant men.

Before I could do anything else, she too, coughed and jerked upright as she awoke, flailing at her would-be rescuer. Holmes sat up without warning, springing on the poor fellow attempting to help him before we could do anything to stop him.

"Oi!" Another man yelled, stepping in to pry Holmes off him.

They wrestled with him briefly before managing to finally loosen his grasp. My wife staggered to her feet, and I noted that we were on some unfamiliar London dock that we had never been to before. The bare stone beneath me was extraordinarily clean and as I glanced to my right, I saw that a vast white ocean liner had pulled into port beside us, its towering passenger decks blotting out the sky.

I was never an expert on ocean liners, so I was not surprised when no name came to mind.

"I apologise for my rudeness. Where are my manners? Probably gone from being half-suffocated in that chamber. The date please, good sir." Holmes gasped. At that moment, I could not make sense of the fact that I had been knocked out by Doctor Samson's gas, let alone realise the implications of Holmes' question.

"Eighteen April, twenty thirteen." The man who had me slung over his shoulder replied, shooting a cautioning glance at his companions. I gave him a pat on the back, letting him know that I could stand on my own now. The effects of the gas were wearing off, and I was suddenly struck by the reason for Holmes' question when I turned around to face the city behind me.

Big Ben, that familiar clock tower and custodian of London time, was visible, but so were other fantastic shapes that gleamed and rose nearby, glassy and alien.

These buildings surely had not sprung up overnight. I now realised what Holmes must have been first confronted with when his unequalled brilliance sprang almost immediately to work upon his awakening: We had been sleeping for quite a while in that chamber.

And the year! Twenty thirteen! If I had heard him correctly, we had been sleeping for one hundred and twenty years! As my mind reeled in shock, I found the earlier treatment to which our chests had been subjected to less unreasonable. Perhaps this was how they greeted strangers today – or, more likely, this was the new medical practice of resuscitation.

"Oh!" Mary exclaimed. "You don't mean to say – "

"Excuse the Lady," Holmes interrupted, "But she, and the two of us here, are not feeling quite ourselves. Could you kindly direct us to the nearest police station?"

"Sure. This way." The man stole a wayward glance at me and my companions. Our dress must have seemed odd to him, for his curiosity spoke before his common courtesy.

"Must be some cosplay party that you were about to attend, huh?"

A few awkward moments passed before Holmes took charge of the situation in his usual masterful way.

"We were actually returning from a small gathering somewhere nearby here. I must say –" He pitched forward unsteadily, hand on temple.

"Whoa! Take it easy!"

"Let 'im lie down!" A burly seaman with a tattoo of an eastern dragon on his arm exclaimed.

"I'm fine." Holmes waved off our help. "We need to get to the police, and quickly!"

"Holmes!" I ejaculated, "Shouldn't we be – " He shot a silencing look at me before straightening himself once more. "Just he wait, the ruffian! Having the nerve to shut me up in that box like that – To add salt to the wound of being robbed!"

"Just a moment." The man who had helped us took out a small rectangular-shaped device from his pocket and consulted it, tapping on it a few times before holding it to his head.

"Hello, police? I've got some people here who've been mugged – Don't know what's goin' on, but they're all dressed up like they've gone to some sort of fancy dress party. Found them in some sort of container, stuck to our anchor as we were pulling in to port. I don't think that they can come up here themselves – they're talking weird too. Oh, you're already on your way? Thanks."

Before I had the time to decide if he was mad or not, a high-pitched wail assailed my ears, steadily growing in pitch. All of us looked in the direction of its source, and my eyes registered what looked like a small rail-less tram car moving towards us.

The world had certainly changed while we were asleep.

"Wot's the matter?" An emasculate policeman inquired as he got out of the machine. I wondered if the rest of London had taken to speaking like ruffians on the street.

"Madam, I require conduct to the nearest police station. I have a statement to make there."

My eyes widened as Holmes insulted the policeman in the crudest manner possible.

"Of course." She nodded. "And drop the nineteenth-century act. This isn't funny anymore."

She didn't seem at all offended! My mind reeled at the Holmes' brazen conduct as I thanked the Divine for what could have only been a timely intervention of His. Mary leaned on my arm for support. "What's that woman doing in a Police uniform?"

"Mary!" I hissed, but then fell silent as I contemplated the front of her uniform. Perhaps society, pursuing its colonial agenda, was now so short of able-bodied men that women had to take up work normally left to rougher hands. I wondered how large our empire had grown by now.

We got into the conveyance, and though I struggled to stay awake, I am ashamed to say that I failed to do so despite the incredible sights that London in the twenty-first century promised.

"Are you all right?"

I stirred further, confused at the sudden change in surroundings. I was in bed, dressed in a sort of light green robe that felt too thin for comfort.

"What happened?" I moaned as my hand moved over my eyes to block out the harsh light drowning my sense of sight.

"You're safe here, Mr. Watson." The stranger assured me, no doubt fearing some sort of violent reaction on my part. "You and your companions fell unconscious before reaching the police station, so they rushed you here for treatment. Oh, it's all right – we just ran some blood tests on you." She had noticed my hand moving to the bandage on the inside of my left elbow. I made a mental note to ask how blood could be so tested.

"Thank you." Holmes must have given them my name. "I would like to check on my companions. I know that I might be in no shape to be up and about, but I _must_ see them all the same."

"Just rest," she repeated, "Mr. Holmes almost fell over when he first got up." The look that passed across her face when she used his name was less one of suppressed disbelief than undisguised awe that one would display when speaking of a living legend.

"I would ask then, to be at least allowed to check upon my wife."

"She's on her way here now." the nurse said.

My eyes strayed from her face of their own accord, and I observed that I was in a small room with plain lavender walls. I noted that the interior décor was sterile and utilitarian to the point of being almost soulless. Luminous portals in the ceiling provided lighting, more brilliant than the brightest gas lamp, though how they were lit I could not fathom.

"Come in." The nurse called out as the door resounded with a tentative knock that I knew all too well.

"Mary!" I called out, sitting up as my wife walked in. The nurse held out a steadying hand, but I got to my feet without any trouble.

"John!" The two of us embraced, and I nodded at the nurse, meaning for her to leave. Her persistence in staying did much to inflame my annoyance at this machinelike society that we had awoken in.

"Madam," I spoke as calmly as possible, "If you please, I would like to be alone with my wife."

She nodded, not sensing my annoyance, winked in my direction, and exited the room.

"Did you see how they were dressed?" Mary exclaimed. "I find it all very disconcerting. Why, at this rate, they will be wearing nothing at all in the next century!"

"Yes," I murmured distractedly, "But we have far weightier concerns right now than fashionable dress. Where will we lodge at after we have recovered? What has happened to our old estate? Do we still have credit with our bank?" My brow furrowed as I considered all of our new concerns, previously buried by a veneer of respectability and complacency that had been made possible by my successful practice.

"Oh, don't worry about that for now, beloved. I'm sure that we will come through this together as we always have, John."

I hid my fears from my wife as I obtained a clean bill of health from the doctor who entered my room.

"Well, Mr. Watson, I'm Doctor Hopkins. Welcome to the twenty-first century." He nodded as he scrawled something illegible on his notepad. Handwriting seemed to have taken a turn for the worse lately. An awful thought struck me, and I almost reached out convulsively to seize his arm.

"Please tell us if this is a sanatorium, or if you are humouring us because you think that we are insane. I can prove my identity." My final statement was a necessary lie, conjured by my racing mind.

"No need for that. You are a doctor, aren't you? Then I guess I should tell you that things have changed quite a bit."

No doubt they had. Everyone that we had met so far spoke an amalgamation of labourer, American rancher, and Australian outlaw all rolled into a casual dialect of English.

"Pray tell." I bit my pipe a little harder as I dredged up from the depths of my mind every single theory of medicine that I knew, ready to meet his assertions.

"Well, we knew that you were Watson and Sherlock even before you were awake because of DNA testing. This is a long story, so let me get a chair first. Don't worry, I have been specially assigned to the three of you for the duration of your stay."

What lengths modern society had taken Mendel's theory of Inheritance to! Over the next half-hour, I learned that a technique for comprehending the chemical composition of substance that was the "Blueprint of life", as Doctor Hopkins put it, had been devised and used in many a criminal investigation. Inroads were already being made into curing hereditary diseases with its assistance, though these inroads were but dirt paths compared to the highways that would, no doubt, be built later.

"The long and short of it," he finished, "Is that when we took a sample of your blood to test for the presence of any drugs, we also performed DNA tests – You know, for us to check with the, um, prisons for the criminally insane. It's not every day that we find strangers dressed in Victorian-era clothes and speaking like nineteenth-century Englishmen. We unexpectedly got a perfect match, however, from the Museum of London, which had posted yours and Holmes' genomes on the Internet. It was a very good thing that the search engine had very wide search parameters."

"I apologize, but what is the Internet? And I would like to know more about what a search engine is. Can it be that Charles Babbage's analytical engine has finally been constructed in full?"

"This will take quite a while…"

He took me and Mary through the modern world for the next half-hour. I learned that a computer was no longer a person who performed calculations on demand, but rather a marvellous beast of complexity operating on electric currents so miniscule as to baffle nineteenth-century methods of detection. The television was another marvel that the doctor showed me, and the internet made our nineteenth and early twentieth-century telegraphs look like the smoke signals of savages. The light bulb, an American invention, had been reworked into the incredibly efficient florescent lamps that lit this room.

"Absolutely amazing." I breathed, suddenly exhausted, I felt a little faint, and proceeded to excuse myself.

The spells of tiredness came and went throughout the day. I found myself lying down more often than not. Mary vomited suddenly, and was taken to her room again. I struggled to keep awake, unable now to walk straight without the assistance of a cane.

"You have a visitor." Doctor Hopkins announced. "Come in, Mr. Holmes." he bowed a little, gesturing for Holmes to enter obsequiously. "I'd always wanted to say that." He murmured as he swept out of the room, leaving me with Holmes. The door was left open so that the doctors and their nurses could check in on me anytime, as per my request.

"How's it coming along, old chap?" Holmes, up and about, iron constitution beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, stood by my bed, white-knuckled grip tightened around the railing. He clutched what they called a tablet computer in his other hand as though it would provide all the answers in the world to everything earthly. That statement was not altogether incorrect.

"Fine, I suppose."

My hands betrayed me as I fumbled about for my pipe, dropping it on the floor. Holmes was about to bend down to pick it up, but I stayed him from doing so with an anxious hand on his arm.

A passing nurse, shockingly attired as was the norm in these modern times, picked it up for me and washed it fastidiously. One would think that there would be more cloth to go around in a society where all menial tasks were automated, rather than less of it, as was the impression that her clothes gave me.

I sighed as I bit down on my pipe, forbidden by this sterile society's iron restriction on smoking in Hospital wards. The familiar taste brought back memories of the circumstances that had landed me in this unfamiliar time.

"You truly are remarkable, old friend. How did you learn to use such a device so quickly?"

"How else? With the help of our good Doctor, of course. It's quite simple, really; you tap certain symbols on the screen with the fleshy part of your finger, and it responds to your efforts. Look here: The layout of this keyboard is not unlike the typewriters that we used in our time."

"Simple for you." I sighed sadly. "I feel that I shall drown rather than swim in this time!"

"Nonsense, old chap! If an unschooled infant of four can learn how to use this tablet computer, then so can you! Now, Watson, I will not pretend to understand everything, but I have some sombre news to break to you."

"I am ready for anything."

"Well, first things first – Today's appalling state of fashion. Beachwear!" Holmes held up the tablet computer that he had adapted himself to with remarkable speed. On its screen was –

"Scandalous!" I hissed, looking away despite the protests of another member of my anatomy, "Absolutely inappropriate for civilized peoples, whatever the climate!"

"I'm sorry, old chap, if I offended your sensibilities. I was merely trying to lighten your spirits before delivering the truly evil news."

"Well, as long as Mary is not here. Out with it then."

"Here was our Empire at its largest." Holmes manipulated the glass screen for a few moments, and new images were displayed, images of the Empire that the Sun never set on, the British Empire. I still found the screens marvellous, so the reader will excuse me if I, out of sheer wonder, miss the finer details of the images displayed on them.

"And here is our United Kingdom today." Holmes manipulated the screen further, and only the British Isles were highlighted now.

"What?" I moved forward in horror. Even as I write this, I cannot believe that things could, or should, have changed so.

"It's not that bad, really." Holmes remarked ironically. "If you look carefully, you'll see that we still retain possession of a few magnificent isles here and there. Tiny, really, but no doubt as profitable as our own."

He sighed and sat back in the stiff-backed white plastic chair. So much around me was made of this material that I could hardly tell the difference between it and wood anymore.

"I once prophesied that our British Empire would not last forever. I see that I was right." He said bitterly.

"Old chap, I – "

"Think nothing of it!" Holmes waved off my attempt to comfort him.

"Ah, you are, Doctor Hopkins. Dear Sir, pray tell: How safe is London today? This tablet computer seems unresponsive to my attempts to coax an answer out of it. Am I out of a job? That would be depressing, but it would not be completely unfulfilling for me to see the final triumph of justice."

The doctor gave the floor a look as though to say that he would have eventually been found out anyway.

"Well, for one, London has many video cameras installed to prevent crime." the doctor mumbled, as though fearing a violent reaction on Holmes' part. "Just so that you know, video cameras allow us to view the images that they detect from a distance."

"What a tool!" the hidden meaning of the doctor's answer had somehow slipped by Holmes, who in his excitement, had turned to me, eyes blazing. "Surely crime must have been completely eradicated by now. My work is complete."

"Um," the doctor mumbled guiltily, "You should know the places that you can walk around safely. I've compiled a list for you here."

"What?" Holmes and I exclaimed simultaneously. His meaning was not lost even upon me.

"Good doctor! You test us both!" Holmes laughed. "Jokes are fine, and you've had a good laugh on us, all right. Now tell me, how is Scotland Yard doing? Have they made up for their past mistakes? For God's sake, man, how safe are the streets of London now?"

"London's a big city. Some areas are safe, and some are not." the doctor mumbled almost inaudibly.

"What is the crime rate in London?" Holmes asked coolly. "Compare it with those of other nations if you must."

"Fine." The doctor exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. "London has the highest crime rate among all the European cities. Some parts are so unsafe that even the police dare not venture there themselves. The subway has become a target of terrorist attacks, and – "

The doctor stopped here, for Holmes had gone deadly pale.

"Imbecility! Gross incompetence!" Holmes raved, "With so many video cameras lying in wait for evildoers, one would have thought that London would have been among the safest metropolises on earth!"

"I would recommend Geneva and Tokyo," the doctor began, but Holmes was not easily distracted.

"Even worse! To imagine that we would be the laughingstock not only of Europe, but of the Far East as well! Doctor, let me have access to everything crime-related. I shall get to work at once!"

"This is what I was afraid of. I shall not let you work yourself into another fainting spell. You will complete your stay here without further incident, and that's it. I can't stop you from getting yourself killed on the street, but I can stop you from killing yourself here."

Holmes calmed down, realizing that he was in no position to argue. "Of course, good sir. Of course. Only let me have access to materials on criminology during the daytime, and you may confiscate my tablet at night. If not that, then at least let me have an encyclopaedia detailing the workings of the everyday wonders that you use."

The doctor sighed. "All right, since it is you, I shall make an exception." He left, waggling a finger at Holmes, "Not a minute past lights out!"

"Fine." Holmes replied curtly. He turned to me, bending in to whisper a few parting words.

"Just so that you know, the reason our rooms have no windows is to minimize the impact that the modern world will make on our senses. This regime of rehabilitation may appear too gradual for a former military man like you, but it is necessarily so."

"Is that what he told you?"

"No, but that would be the only logical reason." Holmes smiled as he stepped away from my bed.

"Oh, and Watson? I must say that the women of this time seem to have taken up policing as well, which might suit them until they run into an actual criminal. Clearly I must have misconstrued what the Doctor said about crime. He probably meant petty offenders like pickpockets and rogues who return library books late. For how does one expect women to handle work best left to men?"

"Quite right there." I smiled as I imagined my Mary in a police uniform, handing out fines to jaywalkers and litterers. That was probably what the doctor meant when he said that London was not safe. The people of such enlightened times could not be worse off than those of our bygone era.

Surely what was trivial to us was absolutely unthinkable to them, and what we considered evil, they would consider impossible for anyone to do. Surely London was above crimes like assault and murder by now.

I lay down as Holmes exited the room. The nurse, whose clothing I had, I must shamefully admit, grown quickly accustomed to, offered to extinguish the lights for me. I asked her to show me how it was done, whence she depressed a slanted plastic rectangle on the wall. So fascinated I was that I proceeded to ask her to do it once again, and she humoured me.

Holmes strode into my room late into the next morning, eyes blazing and face pallid. I still felt a little dizzy from all the medication that they had given me an hour after my nurse had turned the lights off, so I was inclined to sloth rather than industry.

"God in Heaven!" he slumped down on the chair at the foot of my bed. "God save us all!"

"What is the matter, Holmes?"

My wife was still recuperating in her bed, and I hoped that he had not been selected by the doctor to be the bearer of bad news.

"God in Heaven!" He repeated. "The doctor was so distressed by my badgering him that he allowed me to check the papers for news on crime. I swore that I would go to sleep after that, failing which I would permit them to sedate me. I wish that I had not looked into the box now, just like Pandora did. Ah!"

He sank lower down in the chair, almost reclining in it.

"What did you see?"

"I saw – I saw that things had not gotten better, but worse. Like a gangrenous wound." Holmes got up and began pacing. "How could anyone sleep after looking through such news? I was true to my word, and allowed them to administer all manner of drugs to me. That is why you now see me at eleven instead of six in the morning."

"You seem well enough." I offered. "I see no need for them to sedate you anymore. I feel fine myself too."

I leapt out of bed and began dressing for the day, head considerably cleared by the shocking news. I noted that the Doctor had prepared a simple suit for me in the wardrobe, hung beside the clothes that I had worn for over a century.

My hand moved over my old wear, choosing instead the dress of the day.

On went the starchy white underwear in the sterile toilet, followed by black pants and a white shirt. A dark coat completed my attire, and I stepped out into my room, feeling much less drowsy as though Holmes' own nervous energy had somehow been transferred to me in our brief exchange earlier.

In came the Doctor, who pronounced me fit to gradually begin coming to terms with the world today.

"I would like to see my wife first." Was my anxious reply.

"But don't you want to see a certain special guest instead?"

"Who?" I asked rather curtly, finding his odd tone rather annoying.

"Namely the Queen."

"The Queen!" Holmes and I exclaimed simultaneously.

"Yes. Her grandmother had been done a service by you, and she would like to see the two of you now."

"Dear Sir, I would, of course, acquiesce to a Royal request. But let me do so with my wife. Our monarch might be the Queen of England, but my wife is the Queen of my heart."

"Of course." The doctor's eyes glittered. "You will have the pleasure of seeing them both at once right now."

The door opened, and there was my wife, and beside her an old lady who I presumed to be the Queen, the majesty of a monarch draped about her even in old age.

"Your Majesty?" I asked.

"Yes. And I presume that you are the famed Doctor Watson? And that you are the legendary Sherlock Holmes?" she extended her hand to each of us in turn. I kissed it, not knowing how to proceed from here. Holmes took charge.

"Your Majesty, I thank you for honouring us with your presence. I am ever at your service, though my skills might require some reworking." Holmes murmured.

"Very well, doctor." She nodded at our caretaker. "Let's have some tea first. You'll find it pleasant to know that though much has changed in the past hundred and twenty years, our little English ritual of tea has endured."

The next twenty minutes solved the problem of bed and board. The Queen conferred upon Holmes and I a pension for what we had done for the country in the past, and our bank had been given Royal orders to restore the full amounts once credited to our accounts with interest. She left after that, promising Holmes that he would always be welcome at every Royal tea party.

"Well, they have certainly decided to let us live out the rest of our years comfortably, eh?" Holmes remarked when they had left.

"Holmes!" I exclaimed, "Your cynicism is truly discouraging at times!"

"All that I have just said is merely fact, dear Watson. I have found out from this marvellous Internet of theirs that there is a method of listening in to conversations via electric – excuse me, electronic devices, much like one uses a telephone, so we should take care when we speak."

"Judging from what you have been saying, you are in more peril than I from such scrutiny." I chuckled at the irony of his situation.

"Well yes, but they cannot do a thing about me even if they hear what I am saying."

Holmes tugged at the crook of my elbow, and I knew that he wanted to speak to me later in private.

"Very well, then. As you please. Would you mind coming along with me to see the doctor? I feel that we are ready to begin adapting to these modern times, and the sooner the better."

"Lead on."

The two of us first strode over to Mary, who was resting in her room, to offer her some companionship and prepare her for the next turn of events.


	3. Chapter 2: Settling Down and Getting

**Chapter 2: Settling Down and Getting Beaten Up**

We were brought outside of the hospital by the doctor and several attendants, who stood nearby, as though afraid that we, like the insane, would attempt a flight through the city. I looked around, marvelling at all the mechanical conveyances moving about us. Cars, Doctor Hopkins called them.

"This part of the city is relatively safe, almost without crime, so we'll allow you to settle down nearby."

"And what of our old lodgings at Baker Street?" Holmes inquired. "I would like very much to reclaim possession of it again."

"They have set up a museum there in your honour," Doctor Hopkins replied, "You shall have to put up with some modern quarters here."

I looked up, hearing thundering in the heavens above me, and saw to my wonder a huge bird soaring above the clouds, wings stiff, leaving its own trial of clouds behind it –

"That would be an aeroplane," the doctor explained. "A heavier-than-air flying machine."

"Fascinating." Mary breathed. The two of us looked up for a few moments before the doctor nudged me in the ribs.

"Stop looking up and follow Holmes' lead. Everyone'll think that you're crazy otherwise."

Holmes had already adopted the mannerisms common to the people of this time. He was looking at his tablet computer, ignoring the aeroplane. All around us walked people in the fashionable wear of the day, most of them focused on what Doctor Hopkins called 'smartphones'.

I must say that though I found modern wear rather objectionable, especially the way young women wore tight-fitting clothes that exposed the feminine contour of their bodies, I was not inclined to force them to change their habits, though Mary was rather less tolerant.

"Humph!" She wrinkled her nose in displeasure. "The way they dress makes them look like cheap tarts*! Why, if I were their mother - "

Just then, a woman attired in that same fashion that Mary found so intolerable strode past opposite the street, carrying a baby in her arms with a man who was presumably her husband beside her.

I pretended not to notice Mary's outburst, remarking England's weather had not changed much in one hundred and twenty years.

Holmes ignored their otherworldly attire and attitudes entirely, so focused was he on the tablet computer in his hand.

We were ushered into a cab, and were driven about for five minutes before arriving at our new residence.

"Welcome to your new home. But just before you settle in, let's see if you can deduce who this person is."

Doctor Hopkins opened the blue door, and we were greeted by a handsome youth of about twenty-five, hatless like everyone else, who had curly brown hair framing light chocolate eyes which were bisected by a blade-thin nose. The thin lips were slow and torpid, pointing to a certain calmness of character, and his jaw was, like most of the people that we had seen so far, small and slightly pointed at the chin.

"I must confess that I am at a loss as to how this person might have anything to do with us." I spoke instantly, ire roused at how we were being paraded like sideshows at a circus, but Holmes tutted and walked around the youth, surveying him as he might a specimen of London's less reputable society.

"You are Doyle's descendant."

The lad laughed and clapped his hand around Sherlock's, shaking it in delight. "That was incredible, Mister Holmes!" I almost stepped forward to demand an apology from him before I remembered Doctor Hopkins' briefing, in which he told us that "Incredible" was no longer an insult in informal social contexts, but rather a compliment that was usually directed at something the speaker deemed to be a noteworthy accomplishment or deed.

"Elementary, Watson." Holmes smiled over his shoulder at me.

"How did you do it?" The youth gushed. Doctor Hopkins, equally surprised, scribbled almost illegibly on his notepad, lips flapping incoherently.

"Please." Holmes laughed and held his hands up. "It was all a matter of what was reasonable or not in the first place, really."

We entered the apartment, where Holmes proceeded to inform us of his methods once we were all seated.

"You see," he began, "You are well-to-do. It would not be reasonable for them to ask me to deduce who you are if you were not in a descendant of my brother or some scion of my biographer's family. Ah, ah – don't say a word yet." Holmes held up a hand as the lad gave a start of surprise. "You must be asking yourself – How did you know that I was wealthy? I noted that you were wearing cotton clothing that had texture comparable to that of our time. The clothes that most people wore, I read on the Internet, were made of some sort of mix of cotton and other synthetic fibres. Suffice it to say, you must be reasonably well off if you were to wear something so different from what others wore and so similar to ours."

"And how did I know that you were not related to my brother? Now, my brother was a man who knew so many official secrets that the government kept him obscure to protect him from foreign spies and assassins. He would not want his children so exposed. Besides, one who owes his inherited fortune to us would be more likely to come than one who did not. Since you are here, I assumed that you were more likely Mister Conan's descendant than Mycroft's."

"It's _Sir_ Arthur Conan Doyle." Doctor Hopkins corrected.

"Really? I apologize. _Sir_ Arthur Conan Doyle." Holmes replied.

"I initially meant my earlier sentence as a joke," Doctor Hopkins gasped, "But to think that you would be able to guess correctly!"

"Guessing was only a tenth of it, I believe." Holmes said diplomatically. He kicked my foot gently and I interpreted his meaning. A gentle pinch to Mary's hip was her cue to act faint and rest her head on my shoulder.

"Is she all right?" Doctor Hopkins started forward.

"She should be." I said. "She just needs some rest."

They left after excusing themselves, but not before the young man, who had forgotten to introduce himself in while under Holmes' spell, gave a collection of hardback books by his ancestor which contained all the short stories and novels on us that his ancestor had published with my permission. I began looking through them promptly, more than a little flattered that my humble notes on Holmes' exploits should be so well received.

"What!" I exclaimed when reading his published account of Holmes' return, "Who is this Moriarty that he speaks of?" I learned to my dismay that all the stories henceforth were either of old tales that I had neglected to put in print or modified versions of them. Since our disappearance, our chronicler had become more inventive than faithful where the disclosure of my notes was involved, possibly due to the pressures placed upon him by the editors at the Strand.

"At least they were published," I huffed. Mary, now recovered from her 'faint', sat beside me, reading a modern work of fiction titled 'Fifty Shades of Grey.' Beside her lay a dictionary, ready for the event in which she encountered an unfamiliar word from modern English.

"Shocking!" She breathed, face colouring. "Oh my! How absolutely lascivious!" I heard nothing more from her for the next hour as I busied myself with looking through my own work.

"Holmes!" I called out, worried at the prolonged silence from the kitchen. My wife gave a start beside me, and I looked up to see that she was positively crimson, and had almost finished the entire book. I dashed into the kitchen, fearing that he may have collapsed.

Holmes was bent over a wire protruding from the window, face holding equal parts fascination and disgust. His waved me to silence. He got up from his crouch, stepped over the tools that he had used to remove the device, and took me by my arm, marching me out of the kitchen, past my red-faced wife, and out of our apartment.

"Watson! I won't have this! Fear and mistrust do not make for good dinner companions!"

"Holmes? Are you all right?" I asked with no small amount of concern. Though he appeared the calmest and most resilient among us, I had not infrequently wondered whether his behaviour might take a turn for the better or for the worse without regular injections of cocaine, use of snuff, or consumption of shag.

"As all right as a man living under someone's magnifying-glass could ever be, Watson." He snarled. "The wire that you saw me in the kitchen couldn't have been used to keep us prisoner despite the magnetic properties of one part of the device; neither could it have been used to listen in on our conversation, since it was placed so openly. Nor could it have been a device by which to keep the window shut; why else would they install latches there? I do not know what to make of it, but I am certain that it is some form of device that can be used to transmit information to our caretakers."

"Well, if it was indeed a device of that sort," I began, "shouldn't we be magnanimous and think of it as them being concerned for our safety?"

"Yes, but I am not a specimen that you can keep in a jar, Watson! Look here, I would like to go for a solitary walk for some fresh air. This whole experience has been more unsettling on my nerves than I have allowed you to observe."

I retired to our quarters, but no sooner had I sat myself down beside Mary, who was now studiously avoiding my gaze, and was about to inquire as to the thing that plagued her so when Holmes was ushered in again by two well-built men, hideously dressed in 'hoodies', which seemed to me a regression of fashion back to the Middle Ages.

"I say!" Holmes protested, "This is most disagreeable, dear Sirs! To keep me under lock and key while telling me that I am a free man! I demand to see Doctor Hopkins at once! What? He will not come to us? Then shall we go to him instead?"

"Please calm down, Mister Holmes," the burlier of the two spoke, his jowls twitching like those of my deceased bull pup. "You're being kept in here for your own safety."

"Imprisoned, you mean!" Holmes' protests were the perfect picture of violated dignity. Rather than giving the impression that he was being unreasonably imposing, his masterful air had been artfully replaced by a cloak of humble pleading over wounded dignity. So stunning was his current behaviour in contrast to his usual that I almost dropped the glass in my hand.

The two men glanced guiltily at each other. "Okay, okay, it's all right, we understand. Look 'ere, Doctor Hopkins said that we were not to let you out, but I think it's okay if we go for just a litt'l walk together."

Holmes sensed that this was the best compromise that they could come to.

"All right, fine. Thank you for your understanding, gentlemen."

I returned my eyes to Mary after they had departed. "What's wrong, Mary? You look positively crestfallen."

She started again, eyes glassy and unfocused. I moved towards her, fearing that a fainting spell might suddenly manifest itself.

"Oh, no, no. I am all right. Merely under a spell of some sort." She seemed to recollect herself, eyes refocusing on me. "Wait, I didn't mean to say that, not really. What I really meant was that Christian –" She turned crimson again, eyes shying away from mine.

"What I ask of you may be too great a favour, but I will ask it of you anyway." She spoke bashfully. "Please forget everything that has transpired in the past hour."

"Whatever is the matter with you?" I asked, astonished. "Nothing at all has happened in the past hour."

Her eyes brightened and her complexion cleared up suddenly.

"Really? Then thank you, and thank the Divine for your many noble traits."

I was still puzzling over what she had said half an hour later when the doorbell rang, chiming its electrically-produced sound in the tinny manner that characterized all of our electronic devices. I opened the door to reveal –

"Good God! Mary, hurry and get me some gauze from the medicine cupboard! In the kitchen! Whatever happened to the three of you, Holmes?"

They were a sorry sight indeed, bruised and battered all over. The two men had sustained cuts and scrapes on their knuckles, and their clothes were soiled with boot prints. Holmes himself had a bruise on his right cheek, while the man leaning on his shoulder had a black eye. Based on their roguish grins, I suspected that I should have offered to tend to their adversaries instead.

"Five lads, three of them with knives, jumped us. Said that they would shank us if we didn't fork over some cash." The man leaning on Holmes' shoulder grinned despite his black eye. "We certainly showed them though, didn't we."

"Indeed we did." Holmes laughed, sounding like his old self once more. "Absolutely unimaginable, Watson! They were young lads, all not older than eighteen! The state of this city!"

"Well, that's what things have come to, now." The man who could walk on his own sank down on our couch beside Holmes, who had deposited his injured companion on the other side.

"I'm Bob, and this guy here is Thomas." The smaller of the duo, who was wearing a hideous maroon hoodie said by way of introduction. The larger man whom Holmes had carried in grinned and shook my hand. "Doctor Hopkins assigned us to watch over you, but we just couldn't help ourselves!" He gestured at Holmes, miming his nervous, energetic disposition. "Where's this place, has this restaurant closed down yet, things were like this when I was still your age – He kept going on and on! We just had to show him around town. Before I knew it, we were out of the safe part of town, and that was when those buggers jumped us."

Mary winced sympathetically as she brought in some warm water to tend their wounds with.

"I would be much obliged if the two of you kept this a secret from Doctor Hopkins – assuming that he hasn't found out about it through some nefarious electronic means already." Holmes nudged Thomas in the ribs.

"Oh yes. Don't worry; this room is not bugged. I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but only your bedrooms are bugged – that is, have some sort of listening device in there. Never really liked this kind of spying on other chaps when you tell them that their rooms are private like this. 'orrible, really."

Some good seemed to have come out of this at least; Holmes' friendship with these two men, forged by fire, might prove valuable to him indeed.

"Hard to believe that you're the real Sherlock Holmes, though," Bob interjected, "that is, until they told me that the DNA tests were a hundred per cent match. I was all up for this job after that."

"Thank you for your patience and faith in me." Holmes nodded solemnly. "I shall do my level best to adapt to these modern times and make myself useful."

"You could start by getting rid of that nineteenth-century accent," Thomas supplied. "Makes you stand out too much."

"I'll try." Holmes said, already making a decent effort to do so.

*Slang for prostitutes


	4. Chapter 3: Trouble

_***Sorry, guys. Got too fascinated by the game of Real Life. Here's the next chapter, if you're still reading.***_

**Chapter 3 Trouble**

I tended to and dressed their wounds, and Bob and Thomas did not have to beg me much to keep silent on the matter. They were really the most friendly rogues once you got to know them. Doctor Hopkins had ordered some uncooked food placed in the refrigerator for Mary to busy herself with, since work is the best antidote for anything. As I washed my hands, I observed that the leg of lamb that she had decided to roast was doing quite well. Just as I was drying them, an awful ejaculation came from Holmes in the living room accompanied by roars of laughter from Bob and Thomas.

"What is the matter gentlemen?" I asked, turning around to see Holmes stamping as though he might crack the floor of our lodgings, and Bob and Thomas wheezing and holding their sides.

"What do they mean by not allowing me my cocaine? Really, the state that our empire has fallen to is appalling! Have the youth of today no self-restraint?"

"Could you repeat that again?" Thomas wheezed, spittle running down his mouth. "I'd like to record it and play it back for my boy to listen."

"Really, gentlemen!" Holmes protested. "We cannot solve crimes merely by tightening the laws in senseless places! Perhaps Parliament shall pass a law saying that we are to break our eggs open at the small ends, and the small ends only. Bah!" He threw himself down into his couch, and I knew that he was about to go into one of his lethargic states. How long it would last, I did not know, but I was sure that his energy would return with a vengeance.

I did not have to wait long. Mary was serving them evening tea when Holmes stood, an air of decisiveness about him.

"I have so far neglected to learn up on our law, a most grievous foresight. Perhaps I should engage in a study of society and its laws, both written and unwritten, before proceeding to study forensic science. For it is no use learning how to solve a crime when no punishment is due. I shall be busy in the study, and I hope to remain undisturbed unless my stay exceeds the duration of three days."

"Now, just a minute here." Bob cleared his throat. "It's part of our job to make sure that you're all right, and if my three kids heard that I'd let Sherlock Holmes work himself to death, they'd never forgive me. I'll have to check on you once a day."

"Fear not." I cleared my throat. "I have had the dubious privilege of sharing his lodgings, and he has thus far survived my care. I have no doubt that I shall be as able to look after him in the twenty-first century as I was in the nineteenth."

Bob and Thomas squinted for a moment, apparently not comprehending with ease my manner of speech. "All right," Thomas said awkwardly. "Buy you're still going to have to check on him at least once a day while you're still here. The lawyer will be coming to-morrow to sort out your getting a proper home."

Holmes sensed that further argument would be futile, and bowed lightly.

"Then I trust that you shall know how to interrupt me tactfully. Now, Watson, to work!"

I was apparently conscripted to the task as well, and he used his tablet computer to look up the common law of the United Kingdom. Mary dutifully prepared a cup of strong coffee as recommended by Bob for a late night's session of unadulterated work. Her longing glances towards our room door went ignored, however, as I too became as appalled as Holmes at how ridiculous our laws had become.

"What's this? The death penalty revoked? The blackest murderers walking the earth while their victims' bodies rot?" I carved up my portion of meat. Bob and Thomas had left by then, and I was taking a break with Mary from my work. Holmes had instructed us to give him a portion of meat to take into the study, and I hoped that he would not choke and gag on it. "Ridiculous, I say, ridiculous! And Holmes showed me the sort of prisons they have–The murderers live in comfort on the tax levied upon the relatives of their victims! The sheer idiocy of it!"

A sound somewhere between laughter and gagging came from the study. Holmes burst out a moment later, a tear of mirth running from his right eye.

"Holmes!" I cried, fearing that his sanity had at last given way, though even while we were still in the nineteenth century, I had my doubts as to its firmness.

"Watson! Look at this!" His tapped images of what appeared to be a reasonably comfortable hotel. "Halden! Halden Prison!"

"Excuse me?" I could not believe my ears and eyes.

"They have the nerve to build a prison like this in Europe!" He roared. "The next thing you know, they will be trampling on the grounds of Buckingham Palace! At least the Americans have gotten one thing right: The death penalty has remained in force for some of their states."

He flopped down on the living room couch again. "Watson, you must not think me slothful now. This has taken all the fight out of me. What's the use of bringing in a first-degree murderer if he or she will live in comfort for the rest of his or her evil days? And if he or she can put up an act, as every one of those I have brought before the law could do very well–" He raised up his arm and clapped his thigh, and fell into a deep silence.

Mary looked disturbed, but she cleared her throat and cut another slice of her lamb.

"That _is_ food for thought, Holmes, but we must feed our bodies as well as our minds. Won't you join us for dinner?"

"I shall do so without hesitation, madam, but I must say that I feel as though I am sitting down to pretend that all is right and well with civilisation when it is burning and falling apart right before our eyes." He sighed glumly. "Denying cocaine to all upright citizens since the year 1920 was an insult, but letting murderers live was a heinous injury. Just give me and a revolver five minutes with the imbecile members of Parliament who put this law forward!" He shook his head. "God save us all!"

Henceforth, his mood suddenly changed, and we found him a most charming dinner companion. After dinner, he retired to his room, but I barred him from entering.

"Holmes, old chap, would you be so kind as to spare some time for me and listen?"

"I am all ears and much obliged, Watson." My serious manner made him raise his brows.

"Surely you are not planning on doing anything rash or foolish? Promise me."

"I am not." He answered too brightly.

"Out with it." I smiled and leaned against his door, and he knew that the jig was up.

"How could I ever hide anything from you, Watson? Allow me."

I let him into his room, and he brought up some news on the tablet computer. A murder near Stonebridge had just taken place, and it was featured in a tiny column as though to say that it were not worth mentioning, not when they were everyday occurrences.

"I was planning to make this my first case. Consider London reintroduced to its guardian."

"Holmes." I took him by the shoulder. "You are like a brother to me, and I would hate for anything to happen to you. I know that I cannot, save by force, stop you from going ahead and investigating the case anyway. You do not have my blessings, but you certainly have my firm and unwavering commitment to you whatever happens."

"Thank you." His eyes shone, and he dipped his head. "I have no doubt that it shall be heavily called upon more regularly than you would like."

I retired to my own room, where I found Mary waiting for me, already in bed. She was pouting crossly though her eyes were closed, as though she were upset at having to wait so long.

"Mary, Dear, is something the matter?" I bent over her, and she opened her eyes, from which shone forth a wild excitement.

"Yes, Darling. My attire. It restricts me so."

Fearing a fainting spell, I removed her sheets to see that she was clad in a scandalously thin brassiere, and nothing else.

"They are listening with their electronic devices." I hissed, despite another part of me deciding to throw all caution to the winds and swell itself instead of my pride.

"Let them listen." She whispered as she pulled me in. I wondered if the modern world had already began to infuse her with its ideas, or if the book that she read this afternoon had made her that much more daring. Holmes probably wished that his walls were soundproofed, for my wife was unusually noisy that night.

The next day, I woke up bereft of my garments beside my wife. Someone was at the door, and I heard Holmes go out to answer it.

"This apartment is so awfully small." She moaned as she stirred. I hurried to put on my dressing robe and make myself presentable, least some guest fall upon me while I was unprepared to entertain them. Though every person in my time of consequence to me was dead, I could not so easily shake off my manners, however antiquated they might seem to the people of this time.

When I stepped out into the living room, Holmes was sitting there in his dressing robe with a bespectacled Chinaman in a suit, who raised a hand in greeting. I uncertainly raised mine, and he extended his for me to shake.

"Good Morning." I spoke, pronouncing each word clearly and haltingly as though speaking to a child. Was he the lawyer? It couldn't be. He was probably on an errand here, and had somehow lost his way. Thomas and Bob would have to do a better job.

"Good Morning." He replied in flawless Eton English, and I must have stared, for he looked mildly amused when he released my hand. "You must be Doctor Watson. I'm David Lai, your lawyer, pleased to meet you."

My mind reeled, and Holmes provided a timely interruption. "How amazing really, that the Commonwealth of Mankind should have extended to include persons of all Nationalities! You must forgive our bewilderment, for nineteenth-century Englishmen are not accustomed to speaking with peoples from the other side of the world."

"I'm not offended at all." He smiled and dipped his head curtly. His manner suggested brisk industry and ceaseless motion, and his slanted eyes gazed at us calculatingly. "I have been briefed on this. Apparently, I'm to be part of the process of reintroducing you to the modern world."

"Excuse my impertinence," Holmes spoke carefully, "But were you born here?"

"Correct." The Chinaman nodded curtly again, and I somehow found myself not repulsed by him. Though all I perceived were grubby and sad creatures when gazing upon the Chinamen in the opium dens of London, I have not felt an ounce of revulsion towards this exceptional man so far. "You really are a quick thinker, Mister Holmes."

"Pray tell, how equal are all races treated in modern times?" Holmes' eyes glinted.

"With absolute equality in this nation." David smiled. "I was warned that it might come as a shock to you, but since you're from the nineteenth century–" He shrugged.

"Not at all." Holmes smiled. "I knew that mankind would see sense sooner or later. There is no point in quarrelling over mere trifles. And how are they treated in other nations?"

"Not every nation has completely purged racism." He answered carefully, paying me a glance and raising his hand apologetically, "but they say that they're trying to. We'll get there sooner or later." He held up a briefcase. "Shall we get to business?"

Over the course of the next hour, we had two homes in Cheshire transferred to our name, courtesy of the State once again. Holmes learned from David that the contents of the container that we were in had been analysed, and would no doubt prove useful to modern science.

Doctor Hopkins came in to check on us immediately after David left, and though Mary was a little flustered at having guest after guest come in, she persevered and maintained her composure in a truly ladylike manner.

"I'll just need to draw some blood from you." He nodded apologetically as he removed three gleaming vials from his briefcase.

"But of course." Holmes extended his arm to him, and Doctor Hopkins winced when he caught sight of the multitudinous needle marks there.

"Never fails to make me sick." Doctor Hopkins chuckled as he drew some of Holmes' blood. "I keep forgetting that you were a cocaine addict."

"I prefer the term 'user'." Holmes retorted archly.

After he had taken blood from Mary and me, we were given an opportunity to learn more about the modern world with Bob, Thomas and three other police officers assigned to shepherd us through the city. Though Holmes looked as though he would protest, he retained enough presence of mind not to object as they ushered us into a private car.

Our first stop was at what the people of today would call a shopping centre. Though our police escorts were not in uniform, something about their alert gait kept most passers-by well away from us. We inspected the fresh produce sold in neat refrigerated racks that chilled the very air around them and in doing so, preserved the food sold within. The meat was neatly packaged and covered in a transparent film that they called 'Clingfilm', and I was inspecting some beef through a glass window when a shout came from an aisle nearby.

"Drop it, I say, drop it!" Holmes was shouting. A blond lad with a hideously-shaved head let fall a small can of beans, and Holmes kept his grip on the poor boy's arm, which he had bent backwards in a peculiar grip that he had no doubt learnt from abroad.

"We'll take it from here, Mister Holmes." Our police escorts flashed their warrant cards, and they pulled the boy away from Holmes. Men in uniform came running in, and they took the boy into custody while we waited in a corner with our escorts.

"And what the devil were you thinking, going about and getting yourself into trouble like this?" I hissed at my wayward companion.

"I saw the lad sneak something into his jacket. He could have placed it in one of the baskets that everyone else is carrying had he wanted to make a purchase." He glanced around, and one of our escorts chuckled, whether out of derision or affection I could not tell.

I squeezed Mary's arm tightly, and she remained silent, not even deigning to look at Holmes.

Within a quarter of an hour, we were approached by the manager of the mart who handed us three coupons, each worth ten pounds of purchases of goods. The passers-by who had seen Holmes apprehend the delinquent each gave him a nod of affirmation as they left.

"Bloody stupid, stealing when his parents are billionaires. Youngsters nowadays, I swear!" The thickset man snarled. He adjusted his spectacles. "I'm Garret. Garret Swan. Thanks for making a stand and doing the right thing. Respect!"

"I am only too glad–" Holmes cleared his throat halfway through, and began anew. "You're welcome. He'll settle down sooner or later." His manner of speaking now bore no trace whatsoever of old England, and I felt a pang of excitement at watching his powers of disguise at work once more.

"You watch yourself back there." He extended his hand to Holmes, and Holmes clasped it with only one of his, shaking it roughly, already using the gestures and mannerisms of fashionable society. "That boy had a knife on him. Probably wanted to impress his friends on the street. Now they'll all be going after you."

"All at the same time?" Holmes joshed.

"Yes." Garret snorted. "Remember that student who got robbed by eleven other youths with knives during the riots?"

"I must be getting old." Holmes laughed. "I just can't remember hearing that one." If the man only had an idea of just how long we had slept, he would have laughed at Holmes' remark. Instead, he showed us around, hoping that we would not consider this episode of theft commonplace.

"The human race seems to have become portlier as of late." I remarked when we got back home. The three of us had busied ourselves with domestic affairs, and since Doctor Hopkins had told us that men were expected to perform such work in today's society, we decided to pitch in with Mary at the kitchen despite her protests. Holmes seemed unusually silent, and I took it upon myself to cheer our little party up.

"Huh." He mumbled morosely as his knife encountered a little knot of hardness in the cucumber that he was bisecting. Mary glanced at me as she checked on our stew, wishing me to either cheer him up or find a way to confine him to his room.

"Holmes, what is the matter?"

"Nothing." He finally realized that I desired a proper conversation with him and began warming to the task. "Not much. It's just that I'm reduced to catching petty thieves and the rebellious sons of corporate moguls when I could have stopped yet another murder in Hackney!" He got to work on the cabbage, mincing it with unusual vigour as I gave up on trying to perfect the marinade. Such work would be better left to women!

"Another murder in Hackney." I mused. "Since when did the walls have ears? And how did they telegraph what they heard to you?"

"Internet." He muttered, already adopting today's curt style of answering.

"Holmes," I made another effort to divert him. "You have no need to speak like the people of today when you are with us." Even as I spoke, I was struck by the absurdity of my statement. How could I still insist on holding on the my old manner of speaking and dressing when the world had moved on? Holmes recognized that fact and his eyes twinkled as he gave us a tight smile.

"I have to, Watson. Helps me blend in with the–Ugh!" He finished with the last slice of cucumber. "Locals."

"Is the marinade ready yet?" Mary sipped at her soup ladle. She consulted the cook book beside her, eyes furrowed in concentration. Holmes washed his hands, even going so far as to adopt today's standards of cleanliness. He gestured at the faucet and raised his brow.

"Aren't you going to wash your hands?"

"I suppose so." I sighed. "I_ am _a doctor, after all."

"We've got to cure you of that terrible accent." Holmes muttered.


	5. Chapter 4: Holmes' True Legacy

***I had to fool around a bit with some dates. Apologies to any hardcore fans of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

**Chapter 4: Holmes' True Legacy**

The week passed without further incident. At the end of it, we were to move into two new homes in the Cheshire area.

We had no personal effects. Most of them had been destroyed in the Second World War, which I learned, involved the bombing of London by German fighters. The rest of them belonged to Holmes and I, and we had chosen to leave them in the museum in Baker Street.

"You and your wife will share a home, and Holmes will have another all to himself." David glanced at me, as though looking for any sign of disapproval.

"It is all very good." I made an effort to speak in a more modern manner, and failed horribly instead.

"He means that it's fine." Holmes nudged me, his body language suggesting that he was ten years younger than he was biologically, and I sighed.

"Thanks." The word dragged itself reluctantly from my lips, supplanting the profusion of gratitude that I was accustomed to give in Victorian era England.

"At least you're trying." David chuckled, mirth in his eyes, and we were brought to a silver Toyota which would convey us to our new lodgings.

"Hope I'm too old to try for a driver's license." Holmes looked with no small measure of longing at the driver's seat, and David laughed as he laid his hands on the wheel. Mary sat beside me, face slightly pallid. Automobiles in motion did not agree with her.

We were taken first to Doctor Hopkins, who gave us all a clean bill of health. He left us with a reminder to 'enjoy your retirement', though I had no intention of doing so.

The tall edifices of the city gradually gave way to slightly less oppressive suburban surroundings, and I got off with a sense of wonder, staring at the relatively quiet street around me. Not many cars choked up the street, and a pleasant little row of trees cast diffuse shadows on the road. The homes here were spaced widely apart instead of crammed together like the rest which we had seen. That such a pleasant place could still exist in the England of today! I inhaled, feeling at home once more.

"And here is where we part ways." David saw us to our homes and extended his hand. "You still have some legal stuff to attend to, such as the ownership of your old lodgings. Not to mention–" He held out an envelope to Holmes who tore it open with undisguised interest. "Scotland Yard requires your witness on a few cases that you have been involved in. They would like to reopen several investigations and lay to rest some disputes."

"I'm certain that their interests are purely academic." Holmes had slipped into his old ways of speaking again, and was so disgusted at what he no doubt considered as being treated as a quaint relic of a bygone era that I was sure that he would have torn the letter to shreds had David not been there.

"Not all of them." David shook his head. "One of the cases that you were working on before your–uh, extended nap involved a rare diamond on a ship that you had tracked through the Atlantic Ocean. Even after searching through your notebooks, the police were still unable to determine the route of the ship, which sunk during a freak storm."

"Of course they couldn't." Holmes snorted. "They were written in code, and I used my own set of maritime coordinates. Designed around exponential numbers and the value of Pi to three decimal places."

"Uh–All right." David kneaded his temples. "Theoretically, you could mount an expedition yourself and recover it. The company claiming ownership of it has long since gone bankrupt. It's worth several million pounds today." He added.

"But didn't they have naval records?" I interjected.

"The captain of the ship went rogue." Holmes reminded me gently. "I knew where he was going to go since I had sources telling me his intended route. And with today's sonar, it would be a clinch to find the wreck and secure the treasure."

"You are a fast learner." David shook his head as he lead us across the street to our homes.

"Determined learner's more like it." Holmes chuckled.

"So, how about getting an expedition to finance it? In your name, of course. You have the funds for it." David pursed his lips, gazing at the sky calculatingly as we stepped up to the front gates of our new homes.

"You don't want it for yourself?" Holmes joshed.

"Please." David laughed. "The reason I was chosen was because I've never gone and played out any of my clients before or poached their business. I am a commercial lawyer who offers legal services and provides close, personalized consultation, and that's that."

"Then I trust that you'll give the coordinates to the rightful heir of Mr. Klauseberg Schmidt. I've got a reputation to keep too, you know."

"His last living relative died in the Blitz." David answered curtly.

"Good God! What an awful way to go." I gasped, clinging on to Mary a little more tightly.

"Shit happens." David shrugged, unlocking the front door of our new home. "Your house is on the other side, Mister Holmes."

"Why don't we discuss all of this inside instead of out here in the cold?" Mary smiled at them, already claiming possession of her new home. David glanced at Holmes as though asking for his permission, and Holmes entered our new home, ready to continue.

"So," David said as he lifted a cup of tea to his mouth. "You sure you don't want anything to do with it?"

"Not at all." Holmes laughed.

"Very well." David shrugged. "At least let Scotland Yard know of it."

"All in good time." Holmes smiled. "You said that you were parting ways with us? Did you mean that you would be seeing us tomorrow or that someone else would be assigned to help us get through all the legal stuff?"

"About that." David shifted uncomfortably. "I actually run a legal firm."

"Sorry for waking up and giving you all that trouble, then." Holmes joked, leaning back in his armchair. Mary stifled a reprimand and looked at the floor at Holmes' feet.

"No, it's all right. Really. I've always wanted to meet you." David looked up, and one could not doubt the sincerity of his admiration, even if he was of a different race. "But I have many other cases to work on, which is why I'll assign my top intern to you. She is usually quite punctual, and should be here right about–" He glanced at his clock. "Now."

Mere seconds passed before a knock came at the front door. Mary hurried over to the door and opened it for a red-haired woman who had her hair tied in a severe bun and wore a formal white blouse, black skirt, and low black heels. She had clear green eyes, a beautifully rounded chin, and her perfectly full lips seemed to be pouting slightly all the time.

"This–" David turned to wave, and Holmes rose to take her hand. "Is Miss. Vicky Eugenia Holmes." When David pronounced her name, Holmes started, but regained his composure so quickly that I thought that it must have been my imagination.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Holmes." She took his hand, and I reminded myself once more that women were the equals of men in this society, an idea that I suspect my wife needed but a short time to grow accustomed to.

"You too, Miss Eugenia." Holmes released her hand and gestured at the empty armchair beside David. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." Our visitor had a small black file clutched in her arms, and she sat in the armchair, all business and ready to begin working on everything legal.

"She really is the most extraordinary intern I've seen." David spoke in praise of her as he got up to leave. "Already has a degree in commercial _and_ criminal law. Which one do you like better, Vicky?"

"I'll decide when the time is right." She gave him a tight smile.

"Excuse me," Holmes interrupted, unable to contain his incredible curiosity, "But I get the feeling that I'm being tested again."

Vicky and David exchanged tacit glances. I was at a loss as to what they might be trying to test us on.

"Come now, this is intolerable." I interrupted, more than anxious to defend my friend and our collective honour. "We have already suffered all manner of physical medical tests, and now you wish to test our intelligence as well?"

"Relax, Doctor Watson." Vicky could not contain her impatience anymore and interrupted me, and I could feel my eyes widening out of disbelief at her sheer impertinence. "He's joking."

"Actually, the joke's on me." Holmes laughed good-naturedly, and indeed, so unpretentiously that I could not help but smile as Mary plucked at my shirt in warning.

"But really," Holmes continued, "You really do have a bit of Eugenia Ronder's mouth."

Our visitor, instead of expressing her amazement at Holmes' quick thinking, grinned merrily at him. "Guilty as charged, your honour. I'm actually surprised it took you that long." The sheer impertinence!

"Let me guess." Holmes pinched his chin. "Eugenia's daughter decided to take her mother's name as her surname instead of her father's."

"Yes." Her eyes glinted with pleasure. "And every woman in our family keeps her last two names even after marriage. I know it sounds kind of rude or impertinent to you, but that's just the way we were brought up." She pronounced the word 'impertinent' slowly and contemptuously, as though she had been brought up to scorn the very meaning behind it.

"Allow me to recall." I gazed at the ceiling, white and ruthlessly featureless. "The case took place in '91, but our chronicler stated that it happened in early '96, and he omitted the fact that she had just borne a child by Rodner."

"To protect the child, yes." Vicky smiled. "That child was my great-great grandmother. And on that note–" She looked Holmes squarely in the eye without flinching or any coy pretensions, and I could not help but marvel at how time had changed every social decency. "I want to thank you for saving my ancestor's life. You turned her life around, you know. She told her daughter to thank you for her if she ever met you again, and here I am, fulfilling her mission."

"You're welcome." Holmes looked down, and I could see a tear creep into the corner of his eye. "Allow me to break form, Watson." He drew a deep shuddery breath. "I am awed and humbled by the consequences and results of my work. Truly, I did not foresee that the effects of my own insignificant efforts would carry on beyond the next generation, its results accruing rather than fading away silently. God Almighty!" He paused, eyes going vacant. "It was all worth it after all. This, and not cold stones on pedestals, is my true legacy!"

"Well, I'd best get going." David, who had been listening silently for some time, stood and consulted his wristwatch. "I've got a meeting later with a client. We'll keep in touch." Having said so, he showed himself out, his quick pace of movement making me dizzy.

"All right," Vicky straightened her spine. "He told me about what you did that day in the supermarket." She gave Holmes a glance. "It was bold, yes, but I'd advise you _not_ to ever repeat that again."

"What?" I cried out.

"You startle me yet again." Holmes murmured at the same time. "I mean, that comes as a surprise."

"You'll use up your last shred of political goodwill sooner or later if you keep on doing this." She explained frostily. "David had to ask the Police not to disclose anything to the media. They listened because he used Doctor Hopkins' and the Queen's name, but they might not be so nice next time."

"Then I'm back in business." Holmes remarked calmly, prompting her to laugh uproariously. Mary leaned in and tittered in my ear, "She's so unladylike!" I could hazard no reply, for I saw Holmes' brow furrowing in merriment too.

"Back in business?" She wheezed. "Believe me, you have no idea what it's like to be at the centre of attention in today's media circus." She turned to the last page in a file and extracted a picture of a beautiful blonde.

"Heard of this woman? Some reports allege that her driver was drunk when they suffered a fatal crash in the tunnel, and some say that it was a hit job by some professionals. Some also say that the journalists and photographers who had chased her car into the tunnel were partly to blame. I favour the simpler explanations."

I studied the blonde beauty's face. Her unusually short hair seemed to take on a life of its own, flowing down the back of her neck and draping itself over her ear like the shawl of a Goddess. Her smile suggested dignified mirth at the state of the world, and her large, earnest eyes made me feel like I was staring into the face of honesty incarnate.

"Recognize this man?" She pulled out a picture of an unclothed man, his intimate regions thankfully blanked out by a heavy application of marker pen. His face looked oddly familiar, though I couldn't place it anywhere.

"He was photographed naked while in Las Vegas. The media and Internet were merciless." She continued, without pausing for me to answer.

"Recognize this woman?" She pulled out a picture of a fairly elegant, dark-haired woman whose smile must have been worth the crown jewels. Recognition burst upon me like the first ray of sunlight upon a man who has lived, or in my case, slept, all his life in a dark cave.

"The Duchess of Cambridge!" Holmes and I exclaimed immediately. I had recognized Her Royal Highness Catherine from our online forays, and all the news on our Royal Family.

"Now here's another picture of her." She tossed down a picture of the same woman, this time without anything covering her upper modesty, and I raised my hand in protest. Vicky had, thankfully, taken caution not to offend our sensibilities by applying more marker pen to her bosom.

"The other two people were _also_ royalty." Her voice rose slightly in pitch, and she tapped the table repeatedly, emphasizing her point that left no doubt as to the equality of women with men in these modern times. "Princess Diana. Prince Harry. If the media dared do this to Royalty, hounding them, giving them no rest, what do you think they'd do to any newsworthy commoner?"

A dead silence fell on us, and much to my surprise, Mary was the one to break it.

"Absolutely scandalous!" She hissed. "Have they no respect whatsoever for common decency, let alone the dignity of Royalty?"

"Not an ounce." Vicky relaxed, leaning back a little. "There are nude pictures of women published in magazines as well. Pictures of people who have died of drug overdoses. Reactions of their family members. They lap it all up."

"Good God." Holmes whispered, appalled beyond belief and forgetting his modern accent. "This is reason enough for me to become a hermit. Thank you, Vicky, for giving me an excuse not to listen to my dear friend whenever he asks me out for a walk. They might say that our relationship has taken an inappropriate turn."

I could appreciate the irony in his voice, but not so Vicky.

"Which brings to mind," She squinted at Holmes and I. "Are you gay?"

"I suppose that we are as gay as anyone who woke up after a nap of a hundred and twenty years could be." I replied, and then remembered too late what I had learned from Doctor Hopkins; in this modern era, being gay did not mean being happy, but rather that one was a sodomite or an invert. Excuse my harsh-sounding language; I meant to feel an attraction to members of one's own gender.

"What I meant is," Vicky continued, colouring at her error, "Do you and Holmes lust after each other–"

"Impudent wench!" Mary rose suddenly, face crimson.

"Dear!" I too rose hastily, holding her as firmly as I dared by her waist and pressing her against myself least she should do something rash in her fit of passion. "Calm down!"

"Insult me if you dare, but see if you will get away unscathed if you dare sully John's name! You are a poor excuse for a lady in every way–" I tugged my wife away in stages, shooting an apologetic glance at Vicky, who had also risen, and had her hands outstretched as though to ward off an attack.

"All right, I don't know what I said, but I'm sorry, okay–" Vicky's unreserved apology was cut short by my wife's continued tirade, which increased in volume and force.

"–Ill-mannered, coarse, vulgar and lewd thing that you are!"

"I'm sorry!" Vicky screeched as Holmes stood up and moved before her, shooting a wary glance at her.

"No apology will suffice! Your superior will hear of this, yes he will!" I managed to drag Mary around the corner to the dining room, where I grabbed a nearby flask of brandy and poured a stiff dose in anticipation of what was to come next. Surely enough, she collapsed into her chair, enervated and pale.

"That evil woman!" She gasped. "I was willing to bear her rudeness in good cheer, and even treat her as a friend, yes, even as a sister–But to hear her insult your honour–"

"Calm down, Mary." I slipped the cup into her hand, afraid that she might faint, so pale she was. Down went Nature's liquid vitality, and her cheeks were soon infused with a mild flush of vigour. In all the commotion, I knew not when the front door opened and closed, only that Holmes had taken Vicky to a safe distance from my furious wife.

"She didn't mean any rudeness." I explained. "Doctor Hopkins said that it was not uncommon for–" I struggled to find words delicate enough not to offend Mary's sense of decency. "–For men and women to find their own genders desirable these days. It has become commonplace in today's society. It was only reasonable for her to assume that Holmes and I were so involved. Besides, I should have understood her immediately when she called us gay, since Doctor Hopkins had told us about it beforehand."

Mary sighed in resignation after my explanation. "It seems that I have made a fine fool and ass of myself. Perhaps an apology is in order."

"Don't think of yourself so." I urged her. "It touches my heart to see you so concerned with defending my honour." I glanced outside, wondering when Holmes would return, and if Vicky would still be with him when he did. She was a quantity beyond my reckoning or comprehension, and Holmes was perhaps the only person from my century that had both wits and patience enough to deal with this specimen of the modern female.


	6. Chapter 5: An Afternoon Walk

**Chapter 5: An Afternoon Walk (As Narrated by Holmes)**

Watson has asked me to write a brief chapter about what happened while I was out on a walk with Vicky. He has an obsession with recording everything. Though I find it a little annoying, I'm going to do it anyway because it's him who's asking.

I am trying to write as someone would in modern times, though I'm a little worried that it will lower the standard of my English. But if it helps me assimilate and thus allows me to function and combat crime better, it will be worth it. If I don't give a rat's ass about the earth orbiting the sun because I don't want to clutter up my mind, then neither am I going to care about fancy English or extravagant phases. So for the moment, you will have to put up with Sherlock Holmes writing in twenty-first century English.

"That went well." Vicky muttered sarcastically to herself. Her lips had gone pale and thin as well, and she kept glancing at the home across the road. Watson's probably giving her a stiff dose of brandy right now.

I took some time to observe her first. Her nose and cheekbones make her look dainty, almost doll-like when her eyes are closed. However, when her eyes are open, they are hold ambition that most women of my time would not entertain even in their wildest dreams.

"At least you know we're not gay." I chuckled. That response should make her laugh. I study the buttons on her blouse closely.

"At least I know _Mary_ doesn't want you to be gay." She retorted, and I jerked upright in surprise. How am I supposed to prove anything to her? I suddenly have a brainwave, as they call it now.

"And how do I know that you do not wish to be a man?" She started at what seemed to be a non sequitur on my part. "What do you mean?"

"You are wearing a man's shirt. From observing the nurses in the hospital, looking at pictures on the Internet, and glancing through some online articles, I found that women still have their buttons reversed. Buttons on the left, holes on the right."

She glanced down and laughed. "I just believe that Women can do just as well as Men in anything."

"Or it could be that you admired your Father. Or it could be that you always desired to be a man." I ticked the points off my fingers. "Or it could be that Watson and I are just good friends. Sometimes, we have to take each other's word for it."

"Guess you're right." She laughed mouth opened a little too widely for the women of my time, but I'm not one to focus on such particulars. I honestly don't care if she could open her mouth widely enough to fit a tram. As long as she can think.

"I usually am." I smile roguishly. There. That should make her laugh and keep her off balance.

"Cocky." She shoots me an arch glance, tilting her chin downwards. "Nice personality trait to have."

Not again! I miscalculated. Note to self: Must work more on modern social mannerisms.

"I think that Mary should have cooled off by now." Her eyes widen ever so imperceptibly with panic, and I'm pleased to see that I have finally managed to stop her jokes and odd innuendos. Most men don't observe other men, let alone women, like I do, but I don't care about that, since this is just how I am.

"Maybe we should go for a walk." She suggested hesitantly.

"I thought you said that women could do everything that a man could do?" I raised my eyebrows. "If Watson dares to be in there with her, then shouldn't you show him that you are just as good as him, if not better?"

"I need some fresh air right now." She deflected my argument playfully. I was not going to fall for that.

"Answer the question." I smiled and started walking with her.

"I'm not her husband." She pointed out. "If I were, I could do that too."

"I'm not her husband, but I'm still brave enough to go in there right now and see how she's doing."

"You're Sherlock Holmes. You're not an ordinary man." She grinned.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." I tutted. She was proving a very tough nut to crack. "Being a good detective and being socially gifted are mutually exclusive." A green leaf spiralled down to brush against her face. She wrinkled her nose and jerked away.

"_You _are socially gifted. And you have known her for years now. I've just met her today, and I'm not exactly a politician."

"Touché." I decided to end it, suddenly tired of her tactless persistence.

"Yay!" She squealed. "I've beaten Sherlock Holmes in a contest of wits!"

"But I have been in far worse situations, where I have calmly faced people who were trying to kill me. Even then, I had to act calmly and intelligently. Haven't you read Watson's notes?" I went for the jugular vein. "And if you ever plan to practice criminal law, you must be brave enough to accuse people whom you've never met before in your life, and who might be rapists and murderers. Even in commercial law, you must have some degree of confidence to reassure your own clients."

She stopped and stood still all of a sudden. "Crap." She grumbled, an expression of mock sorrow on her face. "I knew I couldn't win against you."

"But you just had to try." I shook my head as we turned back and began walking to Watson's home.


End file.
